The Problem
Pop culture seeks to put meaning into everything in our lives — whether it is cryptic lyrics about any certain situation, symbolism through imagery in movies, and every form of figurative language in books. But no matter how much we insert this into daily life, it seems like we can’t get the point. The philosophies for life and the societal issues we point out aren’t meant to be resolved because of one television show or movie, but an issue has arisen. We recognize the meaning of a piece and to grow more minimal until we forget what it was meant to be in the first place.
The star of the show is high-production quality, long-form media. Within the past year, we have seen tremendous growth in the number of trends based on major movie franchises or new releases. Ones in recent memory are Greta Gerwig’s Barbie, Sony Pictures Animation’s Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse, and Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer biopic, among many others. Each of these had an era, where all over the internet, there were references, clips, quotes, and jokes. And each of these had a decline. They were never outwardly hated, but the applause could only continue so far until each of them was “gimmicky,” “overrated,” or subpar to expectations. The reason for their rise was put to the side or compartmentalized to represent either the audience’s love or boredom with them.
The Industry
By far, one of the most prominent examples is relating to the deeper meaning and intention of the 2023 film Barbie. The deeply rooted allegory about feminism, double standards, and female autonomy was praised for about a month before it faded into irrelevance. The meaning for girls, women, mothers, and all of the target audience was intended to hit home and help create change, and perpetuate necessary messages. But after the movie had hit its peak and began its swift fall from grace, the dull factor to the glittery and bright movie was based on the audience’s overconsumption of Barbie. Not the meaning, not the real-world implications, but rather the branding of the doll.
Tiktok and Instagram feeds were covered in pink gingham patterns, neon yellow roller blades, bleach blonde hair, clips of Ryan Gosling’s take on “kenergy“, the star-studded soundtrack, and which of the previous editions of the Barbie doll Margot Robbie had been referencing most recently on the global press tour. Every profound yet superficial detail of this movie had been carved out into something greater. And yet, people tired it out fast. The Barbie movie remains in the way that people mention it casually, like when describing a pink dress or commenting on a Halloween costume based on one of the many editions of the childhood toy, but never in the actual way the movie intended to leave a mark.
And this didn’t come without its consequences. The sensationalization of Barbie and the box office success that came from it took its rightful place in the hearts and minds of those who had profited from it. Mattel announced 17 more movies to be produced by Mattel Films based on iconic childhood toys, from doll-type characters like a rumored Tom Hanks portrayal of Major Matt Mason and a Lily Collins rendition of Polly Pocket to an alleged Lil Yachty interpretation of the card game Uno. These are the ones announced out of the supposed 45 in production at Mattel.
To the movie industry, the concept of toy movies being successful has taken precedence over the elaborate meaning and allegory of the story. It only goes to show that no matter how much we crave meaning in what we consume, we, both the industry and the consumer, only proceed to take the two-dimensional concepts and run with them.
But Barbie is not the only example of this. A hot topic at the end of 2023 was Netflix’s Squid Game reality competition show based on the wildly popular Korean drama. But a lot of the talk was not because of the quality of the show or the entertainment value. It was about the connection to the meaning of the original show.
For those who have not watched the show, Squid Game is about a competition between low-income individuals, where the stakes are deadly. They move through a series of activities based on childhood games, like “Red light, Green light,” and the infamous Dalgona challenge. It’s supposed to serve as a lesson on the exploitation of the poor by the rich, using the desperation of the poor to drive them to take the high risk of death for a chance of monetary stability. The rich people who have set up the games are using the players for entertainment.
Where the problem arises is the format of the spin-off show.
The template of Squid Game: The Challenge is a version of the games in the original drama, but using real people in a real competition. It is hypocritical on all ends of the spectrum to take the role of the overarching antagonist of the original show and make it real. We were supposed to have been taught about how you aren’t meant to play around with people, but the premise of the show did exactly that, down to the alleged mistreatment of the competitors.
Many of the contestants on the show have alleged that the conditions they were forced to film in and the challenges they faced were “inhumane.” This spans from having to stay locked in one position for up to 30 minutes in reported temperatures ranging from 14 to 32 degrees Fahrenheit, leading to up to 10 noted instances of on-hand medical staff treating people who had collapsed during that one game. Along with mistreatment of the health of the contestants, it was also alleged by more than one competitor that the show was rigged. The rumors range from ones about predetermined competitors by the producers, like contestants with larger online presences being prioritized, certain contestants moving onto the next challenge regardless of performance, and prioritization of certain competitors to maintain a storyline, to two reports of return flights being booked prior to their dismissal from the show, the time aligning with their eliminations.
If we take the words of the producers of the show, Netflix, The Garden, and Studio Lambert, at their highest ground, and the alleged mistreatment is untrue, the concept of the show is still, at best, misguided and hypocritical. Hypocritical being the obvious descriptor, as the idea of the show in general speaks largely on the way that the creators interpreted the buzz around the original.
With the hugely popular first season being worth 900 million dollars just a month after release, Netflix would undoubtedly want to capitalize on the success of the original. It’s the only logical move for a company that seeks profit. But with season two of the actual show in production, is it really worth compromising the integrity of the series to the consumers?
The Consumer
Speaking of the consumer, as much as it would be beneficial to say the issues are limited to the industry, the consumer is almost equally as responsible for this phenomenon as the internal happenings.
A key example of this is the major franchise, The Hunger Games. Originally published as a book series, then reintroduced as a movie series due to the popularity of the books, both series have been brought back to the attention of the public recently with the release of The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, the fourth movie based on the fourth book that serves as a prequel to the main trilogy.
The reason why this is relevant though, surpasses justification simply by bearing the name of The Hunger Games. It’s the way people are talking about it. Discourse online has created a whole new realm of consumerism.
It seems like a fairly popular opinion post-viewing of the newest film is that the audience still wants more. In online discourse and comments during personal conversations, there’s always been some iteration of “I want to see more of it,” consistently pushing new ideas for the series to continue, despite the storylines concluding. The irony of wanting more from a franchise where the point was that people seeking entertainment is inherently harmful. The original Hunger Games series was trying to teach a lesson about entertainment and the means people would go for it, with the way that consumers show indifference to what they are really being entertained by making a real life equivalent.
At the core, the Hunger Games are children who gamble their lives not just with being in the games, but with the chance of being a tribute. They put their names in to receive aid for the extreme poverty they are subject to. And if they are chosen, their deaths are glamorized and watched by people who have not had a struggle like theirs, a whole different social class. It should be something we feel uncomfortable watching, not something that we want to see more of.
I think this was made apparent to some watchers. Alex Abad-Santos captures this perfectly in his movie review for Vox. He writes, “The political and social themes of the original novels are all a bit clearer in Songbirds & Snakes. The Games resemble a sadistic thought experiment rather than a well-funded kid-killing Olympics. There’s no glamour. There’s no beauty. There’s no romance or melodrama in the arena to distract from what’s really happening. Stripped bare, the gore and gristle of the murders peek through a bit more, as do the Capitol’s intentions.”
The facts are laid bare. There is no cushioning, there is no true attraction, but we still seek out the entertainment it provides us, putting the consumer once again in the position of the privileged viewers.
Pop culture seeks to put meaning into everything in our lives — whether it is cryptic lyrics about any certain situation, symbolism through imagery in movies, and every form of figurative language in books.